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futurebellyache · 2 years

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Who should Digest you?

I think I'm tired of the endless grind of work. Any preds following me interested in giving me someplace soft to rest? I’m all yours.

Aaaand post. You finalize your Facebook message as you lean back in your chair. Work had drained you, and some people at work are just absolutely miserable. Fucking Cathy.

Ending up in some cute or sexy person's gut sounded wonderful. You had a couple of ideas, but you were a tad interested to see who volunteered…

The first comment came in mere minutes after posting.

Stephanie Simmerset

OMG BRO IVE WANTED THIS MY WHOLE LIFE! PLEASE LET ME EAT YOU. IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME <3

You aren't at all surprised to see your little sister, Stephanie, jumping at this opportunity.

She had always been your cute little sister, and you'd spoiled her rotten. And perhaps because of that, she'd grown quite affectionate to you. At first it was cute stuff like 'marrying big bro', but eventually, it turned vorish and she'd pestered you about being her 18th birthday present. How wonderful having her brother be her first meal would be.

You thankfully weren't able to attend and had been avoiding her these last few months. But… spoiling her one last time and helping stretch out her gut doesn't sound like a terrible way to go. The idea of replacing the baby fat she’d lost in the last several years makes you feel a bit odd…

Stephanie was a bit of a scatterbrained blonde, forgetful but in a way that made her quite endearing. She’d grown a lot over the years, now reaching you in height. Though her curves were still quite petite. She wasn’t exactly a trained pred, and hadn’t gotten the chance to mold her T&A into the bombshell you expect from predators.

You'd taken it as the desire of a young girl to be like the voracious adults, but now she was old enough where you think she could actually swallow you down. Perhaps you could help her take this important step to adulthood. An untrained pred was barely different from a prey in the eyes of a hungry predator. You’d be keeping her safe by letting her digest you. Plus the slight taboo of your sister appeals to your perverted side…

You hear your phone ding, must be another comment. The second is… you can't help but let out an immense sigh.

Cathy Bingleheart

Hah! Always knew you were a prey slut. If you want a real gut to mess you up, mine would LOVE to put you in your place.

Fucking Cathy.

You'd had to follow her to be friendly since your company was so small. You had grown to despise her. She was a fake blonde with a fairly chubby gut. One you bet she'd just gotten from her shitty diet and lack of exercise. There’s no way she could actually entice somebody inside of her, though physically she didn’t seem weak.

But… she was rather stacked. Her tits were massive, like volleyballs that pushed out farther than her gut. And her ass would definitely smother you. If she ate you, you'd be lost in that sea of fat. Probably with those interns who all 'suddenly quit' last year. Likely trusted her a bit more than they should have.

There's some masochistic desire inside you that's tempted to allow her to have your way for you. No matter how frustrating the idea is.

While you argue with your inner submissive demon, another ding and another comment.

Jennifer Gammy

I see you've finally decided to become a meal. You know I'd always be willing to accommodate you. I'd make sure you went out happy. My belly always has room for somebody like you.

Her words linger on your mind and remind you of back when you'd dated her. This was Jennifer, or Jen as most people called her. She was a very tall, slightly chubby woman with long red hair. She was a tad plump all over, a very soft-looking girl. You can still feel her gentle warmth around you when you close your eyes.

You'd actually been in the same friend circle for a while and gradually drifted closer, until finally dating. And then you learned just how kinky she was. She would tie you up in her lap and idly play games with you in her lap, holding the controller at your crotch, licking your feet, roleplay of her cheating with some dude and eating them to hide them (the dude wasn't aware it was roleplay), even temporarily holding you in her gut. Sometimes even for hours, and in public.

You'd absolutely still be with her if you could, but she'd suddenly realized she could no longer see you as anything but food. And dating food was ridiculous. So you broke up. After everything you'd been through, you'd become a flustered mess just talking to her. So after it all, you'd kind of drifted apart.

But now you could meet again. Though, this time you really would be food… You can't help but wonder how much she meant those words. How exactly would she treat you if you willingly gave yourself to her?

While you reminisce, your phone beeps again. You flip it open and see the face of the cutest boy you know.

Addison JustAddison

If you're just THROWING yourself away. Let me have you. I promise, it'll be as wonderful as that night we spent together. I even have some fun stuff we could try, since dieing doesn't matter ;)

And don't worry, I'll make sure to flush your ass

It was Addison… You couldn’t quite believe it. He was always dressed as a girl, and was a one night thing you'd had years ago. He had absolutely dominated you. He is the only person who has managed to knock you unconscious through sheer pleasure. You can't even remember how many times you'd cum that one night alone. He’d adored making you struggle beneath him, feeling himself inside you. Honestly, you can still feel him cumming inside you, in a way. Or perhaps that’s just your mind playing tricks…

And he hadn't left you anything to find him again. He'd ruined you and left. Until now, almost as if he had been waiting. He must have been keeping tabs on you, perhaps if something like this had happened. The account in question was unfamiliar, perhaps having been modified to reveal his hand. What a mysterious boy…

You remember that feeling of being bound to the bed, the taste of his cock on your lips, and what he said he’d do to you the next day. Idly threats to swallow you hole and add you to him… and you were definitely attracted to him. He was thin, but soft. Specifically in the belly and bum. Just enough tummy fat to show that he’d eaten his fair share of people. His pink, shoulder-length hair bounced around and helped accentuate his strange mannerisms. He was always a bit… extra. One of the incredibly fun things about him.

You ignored any of the other comments. These choices were good enough to pick from, and you didn’t wanna spend too long dwelling on it. Last thing you’d want is to upset them by getting cold feet. But which person deserved to have you? Two of them meant something in your life, but the other two would put you in your place. One was an absolute bitch, and the other just wants your body squirming for them.

You open your phone once more and thumb to a private chat you had with a number of people. All of whom were interested in taking a vorish plunge themselves, but hadn’t for various reasons.

Hey guys, which of these girls (and guy) do you think I should let eat me?

Feel free to comment below who you would to consume you. Highest points will be picked for the continuation. Extra points if you tell why.

#v/ore #vore digestion #vore writing #vore story #fatal vore #choose your predator #vore reader input #willing vore #willing prey

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mockingbirdshymn · 1 year

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TUMBLR USER @fruit-kick THAT DOES NOT SOUND WEIRD AT ALL IN FACT IM HONORED

heres like. some of the things i keep in mind when writing grieving

the little things in grief

something i scarcely see written is the little things in grief. seeing things that remind you of the person causing you to nearly cry in public, but you can't. seeing people be happy with their family members/friends (depending who was lost) and being both jealous and miserable. wondering for years if you could have done anything, even though the chance of that is impossible, or blaming yourself for not noticing something.

the smallest things in grief are the most important. forgetting the person is gone and calling out their name, texting them about something important to you before realizing that theyre gone, setting an extra plate at the dinner table, entering their room. its things like that which are the most personal. the countless times ive done that, the countless times ive seen my mother do that.

it's not having the will to clean out their room. its not getting rid of any of their stuff ever, keeping their room as pristine as it was before they were gone. it's having nightmares of the death and waking up realizing youre alone. it's sleeping in that person's room for comfort. it's rewatching videos with the person who died in them, reminising over old times and sobbing. it's thinking "oh, ___ would love this!" while at the store before realizing. it's thinking you see them, but it's a coat hanger or a shadow or a chair in the dark, or something your brain tricks you into seeing.

obviously, as time goes on, this will lessen, and it wont last forever. eventually, this phase will cease. but when the grief is fresh, the little things will happen more often.

and the grief can be fresh for a very long time.

general things to remember/advice

don't make it quirky. for the love of FUCK, don't make it quirky.

try to portray the misery, the numbness, the seriousness of grieving over death. use descriptive words, metaphors of flowers, of death, or anything beautiful or ugly or both. use mystical words; death is an enigma to us all. one of the reasons death is so terrifying is because none of us know much about it. just that theyre gone.

"____ had seen death up close. They'd seen her cold grasp take away the person ____ loved the most. ____ sometimes wished they'd been taken instead. If only they were the one to stare death in the eyes and follow her into the inky void of nothingness. But no, ____ was cursed to sit on their bed, every day and every night, wondering what they could have done." this is an example of descriptive words and metaphors can be used to portray write the grief the character feels

instead of a simple 'i wish it were me', expand upon that. they don't wish it were them, they wished they were the ones to stare death in the eyes and accept their fate rather than the person they loved doing the same. it's more descriptive, i suppose

metaphors are your best friend when discussing grief and death (but make sure to not overdo them!!!!!!), as well as your characters little reactions to the enviorment around them.

ie this sentence in my fic's draft - "Harrison just continued staring off into the distance, at the frozen lake and families skating together on it. Preston could see a small flame of jealousy reflect in his eyes, but the ember faded into something sadder."

write about how your character views the world after the death. do they view it as cruel, as worthless to live in, or as something that should be cherished while they can? how does this affect how your character treats others, acts, talks? how does this affect their relationships? do they weaken them or strengthen them?

write the healing process as slow and gradual. if your fic is short, still make it a gradient. it won't heal right away. this healing can be from 3 chapters to 20. it depends on the story length.

keep your character in mind. if your character doesnt fit any of the things i mentioned, dont force yourself to change the character to fit my advice. instead, take it and warp it so if fits your character. model the grief around the character's personality.

all in all, there is no perfect way to write death and grieving. these are my tips, from my experiences both dealing with grief and writing about it for some time, but remember that everyone deals with and writes death in different ways.

#one of my favorite things to write is grieving and death #its such a complex thing and people dont often to write it as such #sorry this is so long lmao #tw death #tw grief #camp camp #cc harrison #cc harrison's brother #cc preston

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thirstyandbeautiful · 3 years

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The heartbreak is hitting me again so here's more <3 This one got really really depressing so sorry.

In the first month after Michael left, neither you or Daniel are coping. You're numb to every thing, Daniel's miserable. You lie awake crying every night, Daniel snaps at the team. But Michael? He's living his best life in Italy according to his Instagram posts, acting like you never existed. A dozen times a day you would wish Michael would come back and every day that passed without seeing him again left you in so much pain. Seeing him thriving just felt so cruel and unfair.

Daniel had found out about the baby the morning after Michael left, when you started crying again after realising there was a 50% chance Michael was the father. You'd sobbed for hours for your Papi, screaming for him to come back until your voice went hoarse and you fell asleep in Daniel's arms. He'd love your little one no matter what, but the thought of Michael being the father made you feel so sick.

A month after Michael left, your health declines. You start off barely able to stay awake more than an hour, feeling sick all the time, every bone and muscle aching constantly. Every one blamed morning sickness, as did you. But then the cold chills, hours where you can't get warm, start. You start getting headaches, then migraines, then dizzy spells. You lose weight because it's become so hard to keep any food down. Everyone says you look ill, tells you to sit down or stay home, but you keep pushing. You keep pushing your body to it's limit just to be by Daniel's side, everything hurts less when you're in his arms, you have to be with him. You've already lost so much.

It's during quali when it happens, you're sat in a chair clutching a hot water bottle when the worst migraine and dizziness hits you. There's a moment of overwhelming pain before everything goes black and you feel no pain for the first time since Michael left. You don't hear the mechanics yelling for someone to get a doctor.

The first time you wake up in the hospital you're convinced it's a dream. Nothing hurts, you're drowsy from sleeping but not exhausted, you feel warm, you feel calm for the first time in months. There's no beeping or bright lights like on the medical shows. A bedside lamp and lights from the hall illuminate the room but don't blind you. You're hooked up to monitors and an IV but they're all quiet. Daniel's asleep in a chair next to you, holding your hand carefully. Everything's so comfortable you can't help but fall asleep before you notice the other person in the room.

The second time you wake up it's like the first time. A peaceful hospital room, the same one as before. But this time it's not Daniel asleep by your bed holding your hand.

This time it’s Michael who’s there.

"Papi?" You whisper, the word coming to you before his name. He stirs a little, but doesn't wake so you squeeze his hand hard. "Michael please wake up." His eyes open and it's then you realise how awful he looks. He's clearly been crying, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, he looks like he has the weight of every person’s guilt crushing him. He wakes slowly, flinching when he realises you’re the reason he’s awake.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers before pulling his hand away. The pain comes back to you like a knife through your heart. You cry out, reaching for Michael, but he’s already running from the room. You scream, but it’s not Michael who comes running into the room, it’s Daniel.

Everything hurts so much.

This was the first thing I read when I woke up and I have to say it broke my heart🥺

#sweet anon i hope you're okay<3 #and take care of yourself❤#whatever it is that's hurring right now it will be fine babe #dr #mi #f

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masterwords · 3 years

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Hi, how have you been? Are you still receiving applications? You know my Hotch/Rossi loves, I would like to see Hotch suffer (why apparently I can't help seeing him suffer) for Rossi shot, that those hours in the hospital Hotch really realizes how much he loves him and doesn't want to lose him, remembering the beginning of their romantic relationship and their friendship, I would like to see Jack equally worried about Rossi because he obviously loves him too. Thank you and again sorry if I can't help but ask for this couple Greetings be well

Hi! I wrote this up and it isn't romantic but it is definitely Hotch suffering over Rossi. I will still try to write more of what you specifically asked for but I kind of just let the story write itself and I think it turned out sweet. I promise I will do something romantic very soon! This one you can take as romantic or platonic, it's vague as far as what their relationship is. <3 (~1300 words)

***

“Hotch?” Prentiss asked, peeking into the hospital room. She could barely make out the shape of him curled up on a cot beside Rossi's bed, too long legs pulled awkwardly to his chest in an attempt to fit onto the piece of furniture. He was huddled under one thin blanket, still in his suit. She entered slowly and called his name again, a little louder but quiet enough not to be startling. He pried one eye open and inclined his head to see her through the dark, humming his response. She approached carefully and crouched before him. “You need to go home, sleep in your own bed,” she said and he closed his eyes again.

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the din of the machines. His family was gone, erased from his life by witness protection and there was nothing for him at his home but crushing quiet and George Foyet's voice in his head. He'd already tried going home when Morgan kicked him out, told him to go and shower, get some work done, take a run, anything but sit in that hospital room. Being alone with his thoughts was doing more harm than good, at least here he could get work done during the day and sleep peacefully, if not a little uncomfortably, at night. He'd spent so much time in and out of hospitals in the last year that it was almost comforting to hear the doctors being paged, the squeaking rubber soles rushing down the hall, being checked on hourly by nursing staff and doctors.

“You really need me to explain it to you?” she asked, rocking back on her haunches a little. “Come on, we're all worried about him too. Let us help.”

“It's fine,” he said, a little more firm than he'd intended. “You can stay if you want. Here,” he groaned, pulling himself upright. “You can have the cot.” He moved sleepily toward the chair in the corner and settled himself in, tucking himself under his jacket and closing his eyes. She frowned at him, glowering over his sheer stubbornness but she sat herself down on the cot because if he was going to behave so childishly she would do the same. He was welcome to sleep in a chair, she'd brought herself a blanket and had every intention of making herself comfortable, at first to help him but now at his expense. He didn't pay it any notice.

By the time the sunlight was trickling through the curtains and the 7am rounds had begun, Hotch was awake and rubbing at the stiffness in his neck. Prentiss opened her eyes and stretched herself out like a cat, tugging the blanket around her, glancing over at Hotch who looked like a miserable splotch of blacks and grays amid the cheery décor of the hospital room. He watched intently as the nurses read Rossi's vital signs and poked at him, checked his dressings, replaced IV bags. They were keeping him sedated, high on morphine, sleeping instead of giving the staff a hard time.

“What's your deal?” Prentiss asked once the nurses left. She leveled her glare at Hotch who just sat silently, staring at Rossi sleeping in his bed. He'd been awake sporadically, hadn't been alert enough to speak or move, hadn't really even recognized that anyone was in the room with him the last time. They had mentioned they were going to start easing the sedation throughout the day, see how he handled being awake.

“A member of my team was shot on my watch,” Hotch said softly and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Oh please. You've never camped out,” she began but he shot her a glare that told her she was dangerously close to overstepping even the casual nature of their friendship. “I'm just saying I think there's more to it. If you want to talk, Hotch, I'm here.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “While I appreciate the offer,” he started, but he didn't finish and she didn't push. What was he going to say? The last thing he said to Rossi was mean, there was no other way around it. He'd been callous and cruel, said things that filled him with regret and there wasn't anything he could do to take it back or fix it. He pressed his hands to his face, drug them roughly down to his jaw, trying to rake the sleep from his bones. She watched him and she thought she understood, they'd been bickering the entire day about how things needed to happen, about the profile, about the police involvement, who should go where, and it wasn't surprising that things went bad. They were all mature enough to know things like this happened, everyone said things they might regret, bit their tongues when they shouldn't, made mistakes in the field. Those mistakes weren't usually punctuated by a gunshot wound to the abdomen, though, and she could see the guilt in Hotch's eyes plain as day. She wanted to hit Rossi, smack him until he woke up so Hotch could apologize, make it right, seeing the look on his face was going to kill her.

“Food? You look like you haven't eaten in days.”

“Prentiss...” he began, but she shook her head dismissively and stood, arching her back. Briefly, watching her stretch her thin frame, he saw an uncanny resemblance to Sergio and thought about all the comedians he'd heard talk about people looking like their animals. It was the first thought he'd had in days that brought him a tiny spark of joy.

“I'm going to the cafeteria and I'm bringing back breakfast. Clean yourself up, I don't eat with slobs.” He scoffed at her as she swept out of the room with her black sweater poncho flowing, thought about calling her the Wicked Witch and figured maybe he'd save that for later, keep it in his back pocket for the next time she sassed him good. Silence fell over the room and he sagged, hanging his head between his knees, replaying the moments before the shot over and over, the words that had stung as they flew out of his mouth. What he wouldn't give to have those seconds back, to bite back his childish anger at not being listened to because like it or not, Rossi turned out correct and if he'd listened more than he'd talked, Rossi wouldn't be hurt.

“Aaron?” came a soft voice breaking Hotch from his trance. He glanced up, saw Rossi's eyes on him, blinking slowly, smiling.

“I'm here, Dave,” he replied, standing, listening to his knees pop at the motion. He moved quickly and stood beside Rossi's bed, watched the slow, stiff way the man moved to get comfortable, noticed the way he looked infinitely calmer than Hotch ever had in a hospital bed. He wanted to apologize, opened his mouth to speak but his friend spoke first.

“Don't you dare,” Rossi whispered. “You're the leader, you made the...best call you could...I shouldn't have argued with you. Bad form.”

“It was the wrong call,” Hotch replied, pressing his hands together to stop them trembling, giving him away. Rossi shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. The morphine threatened to pull him back under, but he fought it, tried to stay present just a little longer.

“If I hadn't argued, wasted time, it would have been okay...” he said slowly, swallowing thick and opening his eyes again. “Not your fault, Aaron.” He held his hand up, its tremble matched Hotch's, and Hotch grabbed hold of it, squeezing lightly, smiling.

“I'm sorry,” Hotch whispered. Rossi nodded, forgiving him silently even if he'd already decided he didn't need it. Prentiss entered the room quietly, seeing the two of them, and she set her food down on the counter beside the sink.

“Go home, Aaron,” Rossi said finally, eyes darting from Prentiss and back to Hotch. “Get some real sleep. I don't want you in my room anymore.” Hotch nodded, giving Rossi's hand another squeeze with a chuckle before breaking away to grab his jacket. He noted that Prentiss had brought enough food to feed an army and as he made his way to the door she handed him a muffin and a bottle of orange juice with a wink.

“Don't worry, we won't get into too much trouble...” she assured Hotch as he left, and on his way out of the door he overheard Rossi ask if she'd brought the scotch or some vodka to go with that orange juice. He smiled and shook his head, knowing finally that Rossi was going to be okay.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #hurt rossi #soft angst

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recovering-from-depressi0n · 3 years

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It's been two difficult days for me, there's been a lot of emotions but still I can't find words to describe how I feel. It's just like a huge black hole or a tornado on my chest and I feel this emptiness in my body and my being. Ive barley managed to even do the bare minimum. Today I forgot to water the plant in the morning, not even the morning, I woke up at 1pm, before that dad called me around 9am I had to fake I had woken up and after that I just went back to sleep. Everything is so blurry I can't even remember what I got for breakfast apart from oatmeal, I'm sure I must've had something else. Oh yeah, a pita bread...I've been spending the days on TikTok, I can't put my head around something else. Since two or three weeks agoi started praying to God and I've been doing so before every meal, and today at lunch I just cracked, I lost it for a bite I cried and yelled at Him. I don't know what I'm doing with my life, wasting my time miserably. Not doing anything that would help me feel better or less anxious, at least that's what I thinks. Because either way I'm stuck, but regarding my body, I just can't find the will to do it, two years ago I was killing it, and today I spend my days in bed or sitting in a chair. This is not what I had pictures my life when I was in highschool. I had such bigger plans, I was someone else. Heck not five years ago a friend of mine told me I had a beautiful look, that my eyes shone in such a way that he's never seen anyone else have it, that I looked too pure and he couldn't even describe it. I bet if he'd see me right now he'd fall dead. I just can't do it anymore, but I have to for my dad. Fucking Covid has my doctors not being able to see me regularly for my dysautonomia, I didn't have my period for four months, I keep gaining weight like crazy, I mean I'm overeating but not in the proportions that have me looking like this. This is a joke, and I find myself constantly during the day being so hard on myself, treating me so cruelly. In my head I just call myself names and insult me and this is not right. I have to be kind with me. The self love and self-esteem I think I have might be just a facade for the people around me. But all this emotions, all this thoughts, that are contradictory and violent, but I still want to get better but I want to die at the same time. I just don't know what to do, wish the meds and my psychiatrist help me better. She says it has, because I haven't really snapped, I guess she means I haven't tried to kill myself or stopped taking medications or god knows what I'd done without them meds.

I just think I'm just doing it for my dad, my dogs and for Germany. Even if it seems like I'm doing nothing.

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